Effrain's Downtime: The Demon in the Rock
by TheCosmicMoth
Summary: The warlock, Effrain Renier, is sent on an errand by his patron demon, Belphegor.
1. Prologue

**Prologue: Slouching Towards Entropy-This is my Song!**

The young warlock, Effrain Renier, sat slumped on a barstool in the famous Laughing Goblin Inn of the city of Phlan. He was, supposedly, celebrating the successful completion of a rather arduous adventure in the Dragon Spine Mountains. Despite that, Effrain found himself in a bitter mood. It was getting late… or maybe early depending on how one looked at it… and his fellow adventurers had long since retired from the revelry. Effrain had been filling the vacuum of companionship by talking at a nervous looking barwench to his right.

She had made the mistake of asking how he felt after tracking down a dangerous fugitive and protecting the city. In response, Effrain was trying to explain to her how what he did mattered very little. He wanted to describe how the material plane slouches toward entropy, and how all of history would eventually be lost to the ravages of eternity. That, even if the fugitive had prevailed and been successful in his schemes, the universe would have ultimately fared the same. Therefore, all things considered, Effrain felt nothing about the episode one way or the other.

However, the warlock was deep into his cups by this stage, so all of this came out of his mouth like: "It's all the same, you know? The big empty, the nothingness, the nil… I do things because I _have to do something_ , right? But none of it ever means anything. I mean, it's supposed to be _SOMETHING_ , but it sort of feels like sweeping the floor, you know?"

It was mid-rant that Effrain noticed the barwench had wandered off towards a dwarf who was tossing around GP like he'd just opened a new mine that tenday. Effrain shrugged. It was probably for the best, anyway. He raised two fingers to summon the bartender for his… eighth…?... ninth tankard of ale…? He'd honestly lost count around the fifth or sixth which was usually the best time to lose count. It's preferable not to know the exact number.

He forcibly spit through his order in the direction of the bartender, and then he heard the bard on stage pluck a succession of familiar notes… Effrain pushed himself away from the bar, hopped off his stool, and threw his grinning head into the air.

"This is my song!"


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: A Stag in the Clearing**

Berengar Brightstag drew in a deep breath before taking his first step along the thin, dirt path leading to Helter Rock. The aging cleric took short strides and was leaning on his holy staff to support most of his weight. His progress was slow, yes, but for that much he was thankful. He had not wanted to make this trip out to the Rock and had put it off for a long time after the stories of strange disappearances had begun circulating through town.

For that, Berengar had offered many prayers and rituals of penance to Ilmater, The One Who Endures. The Cleric knew he had been forsaking his duties to town and to faith. Yet, it turned out that in his golden years he had become afraid to die. This fear had grasped his heart upon mentions of Helter Rock in connection to the vanished townsfolk. That had been enough for Berengar to actively avoid the path of duty and sacrifice he swore to follow for life and the greater good.

It was only news of the last disappearance, the one that fell into his lap only yesterday, that finally stirred the cleric of Ilmater to action. It had been word that young Miri Greenshed, only nine years of age, had not been seen in three days. Berengar could remember the tortured expressions her parents wore as they entered his parish long past noonsun. Garen's eyes shot out pleas to the cleric as Dara could not hold back the tears streaking down her cheeks.

"She was last seen on the path to Helter, Berengar. Please, you must find our daughter. She is all that we have."

Thus, he could ignore the problem no longer. There were five missing in all, including young Miri. Two weeks of inaction had been an age of suffering for his flock. The guilt of this almost outweighed his fear of Helter Rock- that imposing, dark monolith that gifted nightmares to his boyhood slumber. Despite this fear and through this guilt, he had a sacred mission to uphold. He would do it for Miri Greenshed, if nothing else. Resolved, he penned a quick letter and entrusted its sending to his novice, Telmin. He only hoped that it would reach Brinna in the case of his failure.

Then he packed some provisions and the components he would need to perform the rite he hoped he wouldn't have to perform. He checked his holy staff to make sure it held strong, and then he ate as much as his tightening stomach would allow. After saying two more prayers of penance, he turned in for a night of tossing and turning. When he finally did sleep, all he could dream of was the Rock.

Berengar was close now. He could see where the path opened to the clearing that the Rock loomed over like a storm cloud. Halting his steps, Berengar fought to steady his breaths and clear his mind of the aching anxiety. Then he uttered the prayer and signed the benediction to Ilmater that cast Detect Evil and Good. The holy divination took effect and, suddenly, Berengar was fully aware of something he always suspected, but had been too afraid to confirm: There was a fiendish presence around Helter Rock.

An icy flame erupted in Berengar's chest, but at least he was sure of what he was dealing with and what he now had to do. He reached into his satchel of components and retrieved a small flask of water blessed in his tiny parish. The Cleric had never cast Dispel Evil and Good. He was hoping that, in his advanced years, he would be strong enough. Berengar took two, measured steps towards the clearing, and then he began reciting the prayer of abjuration.

Upon reaching the clearing itself, Berengar was met with a sight that stopped both his words and his steps dead in their tracks. The oppressive, black boulder stood dead center in the clearing as it always had since before he even sucked air. Yet, underneath it lay new, grim decorations adorning the most feared spot in the town of Thinch. There were five bodies strewn around the foot of Helter Rock. They looked peaceful, unmoving and yet dark and hideous in their complexion.

Berengar's eyes immediately darted to the smallest figure among them. There, closest to the rock, rested the frame of the young, innocent, Miri Greenshed. Her fragile body was completely limp and crumpled as if tossed to the ground by some brutal, merciless force. Taken by instinct and horror, the Cleric of Imater forgot his abjuration and launched himself in the direction of the young girl's form. If she still lived, then he could-

 _Why won't my arms move?_

 _Their cries were discordantly melodious and unending._

 _The roots, black rotted, will never grow again._

 _Pressed to the iron, her skin boils, cracks, and blisters._

 _The blood drip, drizzle, drips down to the floor and seeps through the cracks._

 _THEY HATE ME, THEY'RE LOOKING FOR ME, AND THEY WANT ME DEAD!_


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Formica Table**

Effrain found himself sitting at a table that gave off an unnatural gleam. It seemed to reflect light in a way he thought wood incapable of. He ran his fingers down the table and noted that it was also eerily smooth. His fingers made a sharp squeeeeeeeeeeek across the cold surface as they worked their way back to him. The light it reflected came from above and was both harsh and sickly pale. It seemed to be coming from these glass tubes strangely affixed to the ceiling. The tubes buzzed like a thousand mosquitos singing in unison.

Everything around him was bright white, and most of what he saw was unidentifiable to him. There was a huge, rectangular box on the far end of the room to his left. It had handles suggesting it could be opened, but the warlock had no clue what could possibly be inside. Next to it and clinging to the wall was a smaller, rectangular box with many little windows. One of them flashed in glowing numbers: 6:66. Underneath that was something that resembled an oven, but smaller and smoother. Behind him was a counter with what looked like a tiny tub built inside. There were drawers and cupboards everywhere. On one of them hung a cloth in the shape of a…cat…? Aside from the incessant buzzing of the lights, Effrain could hear a voice muttering somewhere close by. He was alone in the room, though, and he couldn't make out the words. The voice just droned on and… and on… and-

"Effrain, honey, your breakfast is in the oven," a new voice called out to him from beyond the room.

He tried to stand, but he found himself suddenly frozen in place. He tried to tell his legs to move, and… nothing. Then he tried to tell his arms to move, and… nothing. He started to feel a tingling sensation throughout his limbs like his blood was being shaken and sloshed around his veins. He tried to cry out, but he couldn't even move his lips. His heart began beating rapidly and he felt like he was going to hyper-ventilate. All he could do was stare ahead, and ahead of him appeared-

"Oh, there you are, baby. Did you sleep well?" It smiled at him with its full, pouty lips. It was wearing a white shirt with no sleeves and shorts that showed off its toned legs. It tossed Its long, raven-black hair over Its shoulder and laughed. "Too lazy to get up for your own breakfast?"

It practically skipped over to a cupboard and pulled out two over-sized gloves with little cats stitched into them. Slipping them onto Its delicate hands, It then walked over to the small, smooth oven and opened the door. It bent over as It did to present to him a view of Its ample backside. From the oven, It produced a plate containing something that was radiating small wisps of steam into the air. It closed the door and then, plate in gloved hand, began skipping over to Effrain. With each skip, the steam coming from the plate seemed to get thicker and rise higher. Finally, It reached the warlock and set the plate down in front of him. At which point, the steam reached its climax and blew a huge cloud of egg-shell white smoke into Effain's face. Whatever it was smelled like a two-week-old corpse rotting in a marsh.

When the smoke cleared, Effrain was greeted by the contents of the plate. He couldn't quite tell what it was, but it looked like flesh- marbled with fat and singed. There were what looked like twisting hairs sprouting up all over it like they were trying to escape the whole or were throwing themselves to the sky in hopeless, helpless pleas. In the center of the dish was a bulbous, pulsating, hairless mass. Occasionally, pieces of the flesh would blister up from the internal heat and eventually break spitting small amounts of puss around the dish. Worse still, it was moving. Parts of it seemed to be twisting, squirming, and flowing into other parts like a river of skin. Smiling, It produced a tiny bottle of… salt…?... and dashed it on top of the abyssal meal.

"I know how much of a sodium fiend you are," It giggled. Then It bent Its face down next to Effrain's and planted a big kiss on his cheek.

 _That's right, you sit back and relax while the rest of the world burns._

Effrain knew that It was Belphegor, or Belphie as It liked to be called when It was in this form. It was his patron demon calling on him, once again, to collect on their dark bargain. Effrain rarely knew what was going on when he was in Its presence. He only ever knew that he wanted it to stop, and, on some level, he also knew that it never really did.

"I'm going jogging with Karen," Belphie said slipping off the gloves and placing them on the counter. "You know Karen, she lives down the block. She's married to _Juiblex._ " Belphie went out into the hall, and then came back holding two shoes of a design Effrain had never seen before and in a bright shade of pink that almost burned into his retinas. It bent over and began putting them on, positioning Its calves in a way to show off their full curvature. "They're such a nice couple. We should invite them over more." Its shoes on, Belphie bounced back upright and beamed a bright smile directly at Effrain. "Have a great day at work, baby." Then it turned to leave down the hall.

Effrain breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh! Wait!" Belphie's voice rang like a bell from the hall. Then Its gorgeous face popped out from around the corner, and underneath Its face, instead of Its delicate hands, were two gnarled claws with long, sharp, filthy fingernails tapping on the wall. "I think I left my phone in Thinch about twelve centuries ago. Be a babe and pick it up for me? Thanks!" Then, It was gone.

When Effrain woke up, he found himself curled up on a dirty, straw-strewn floor in a dilapidated hut in Phlan. He had no idea how he got there, and no memory of anything that had happened after he returned from the Mountains the previous night. His head throbbed, his bones ached, and his tongue was so dry it might as well have been mummified. _Blacked out, again_ he thought to himself, and tried to laugh it off. For some reason he couldn't explain, he felt well and truly dirty. The kind of dirty that could never really be washed clean.


End file.
